


you call me a bitch like it's a bad thing

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Degradation, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Hate Sex, Kinda, Knifeplay, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, S&M, Trans Male Character, literally i wanted to write porn of my oc, please read the notes, thats all this is, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Then what are you here for, Spikemuth?" Even without looking at him, Piers can hear the smirk in his voice, "To get sloshed and wallow in your own self-hatred? That's what you usually do with Veronica, innit?""That's not-" he starts, before cutting himself off with a groan, "Look, if you're not trying to do what I think you are, I suggest you fuck off."ORPiers gets railed by my oc.
Relationships: Nezu | Piers/Original Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	you call me a bitch like it's a bad thing

**Author's Note:**

> OK CONTEXT FOR HEATHER HE'S MY OC AND HE'S A CUNT  
> \- he runs a minor-league psychic gym that's half-gym, half-club, alongside my other OC veronica (she's poison type)  
> \- he grew up in spikemuth and is mostly just jealous that piers got a position of authority in the town bc it gave him an easy way out of the gang violence lmao  
> \- raihan and piers are dating in this au??? thing?? but its an open one i don't endorse cheating  
> \- this isnt the first time theyve fucked. duh  
> \- when i showed this to my friend they said it looks like heather is paying piers for sex i dIDNT MEAN FOR IT TO LOOK LIKE THAT I SWEAR.
> 
> that is all. please enjoy.
> 
> Edit: why are half the ppl liking this,,,,, Like That™.

This happens sometimes.

When the stress of running the Dark Gym gets too much for Piers, when he suddenly remembers just how much is at stake with each battle, he'll often find himself getting a flying taxi to the small, semi-legal minor league gym that's somewhere between Stowe-on-Side and Hammerlocke, knowing it's one of the few places he won't be recognised. He's been coming here for the last six months; the gym is shared between two leaders- a poison-type trainer and a psychic-type user- and the building itself he  _ thinks _ is a run-down warehouse, repurposed into a half-Pokémon gym, half club. He's not asked for identification as he enters, but the trainer in a poison uniform at the door gives him a nod of acknowledgement as he goes in- a small greeting that's given to regulars. As he pushes through crowds of people to reach the bar he realises that it’s far busier than usual and he can’t help but be grateful that he’d decided not to wear his usual gym uniform. Even in all the smoke and chaos if the gym, the sheer amount of people there could easily result in him being recognised, and he’s not exactly in the mood for that at the moment.

Piers stands by the bar and waits to be served, feeling the pounding bassline of the music through the soles of his boots as he squints in the flashing lights. Despite it being mid-November it’s extremely warm and he finds himself taking off his jacket and tying it around his waist, leaning back against the bar as he looks into the crowd and scans the room for the poison gym leader.

He hasn’t even drank half of his pint when he gives up, the music already giving him a headache despite him having only been there for twenty minutes. He’d been expecting to find the poison gym leader- Veronica- and spend the rest of the evening with her. He’s done it time and time again; they’d both grown up in Spikemuth and at times like these he often felt like she was one of the few people that actually got how he was feeling. She’s more relaxed than the official league gym leaders usually are, more personable- plus she’s more than willing to peg him to get his mind off things. Unfortunately something tells Piers that none of that will happen tonight and he’ll be lucky if he even  _ sees  _ Veronica. He sighs, swirling his beer around in his glass with a frown, his mind wandering back to the reason he came here in the first place. The window in Marnie’s room has been broken for nearly a month now, his own for just over two. The money that had meant to go towards it had ended up paying for Marnie's train ticket to Motostoke, as well as her hotel room once she'd arrived. She's due home soon, and Piers still doesn't have the money to fix either of their windows- let alone pay this month's bills or make any improvements to Spikemuth's gym. He stares down into his drink with a sigh, tapping his fingers agitatedly on the bar top, already more than happy to leave and head back to Spikemuth-

"If you're looking for Veronica, she's not here."

An all-too-familiar voice from behind brings Piers out of his thoughts and back into reality. He's unable to stop himself from narrowing his eyes as he turns around to face the speaker.

"Heather," he frowns, "Shouldn't you be… I don't know, running the gym right now?"

Heather- the psychic-type gym leader- laughs, and Piers eyes him suspiciously as he pushes himself up onto the bar, crossing one platform-booted foot over the other. "No battles tonight, Spikemuth," he says, picking up his beer, "Unless you want me to beat your ass again."

Piers rolls his eyes as Heather takes a swig of his drink, leaving a violet stain on the glass. "How many times have I told you  _ not _ to call me that?" he asks, a question which Heather ignores entirely for another.

"So how's "rebuilding Spikemuth" going?" he says, leaning down to talk in his ear, "You fixed those windows yet?" He chuckles, putting Piers' drink back down in front of him. If this were anyone else Piers would assume this was a simple, innocent question- but he's dealt with Heather enough times to know that his question is far from it.

"Piss off," he mutters, picking up his drink again, avoiding the lipstick stain on his glass as he takes another sip, "I'm not here for your fucking pity."

"Then what are you here for, Spikemuth?" Even without looking at him, Piers can hear the smirk in his voice, "To get sloshed and wallow in your own self-hatred? That's what you usually do with Veronica, innit?"

"That's not-" he starts, before cutting himself off with a groan, "Look, if you're not trying to do what I think you are, I suggest you fuck off."

Heather runs a hand through his hair, the aptly-coloured purple strands catching the strobe lights as they fall around his face. "That all depends on what you think I'm trying to do to you, Spikemuth." He slides back off the bar, his platforms landing on the floor with a thump. Piers doesn't say anything, taking in a deep breath as he watches Heather tuck his fringe out of the way and pushes his mouth to his neck. "I take it you'll be wanting the usual tonight?" he mutters against him, his voice just loud enough to be audible over the thumping bass of the music. His teeth graze over his skin, the metal stud in his tongue a stark contrast to the wet warmth of the muscle as he presses slow, open-mouthed kisses up towards his ear. Piers' breathing hitches, one of his hands sliding around Heather's waist as the other moves back to steady himself against the bar. He nods, a soft hum of approval leaving his throat as he stutters out the only words that he can make up.

"I fucking hate you."

Heather pulls away, a thin line of spit connecting him to his neck. He smirks, his violet lipstick smudged across his lips. "Don't we all?" Piers swallows and licks his lips, unsure how to respond. His breath shakes as Heather leans back in, sucking at the corner of his jaw before taking his earlobe between his teeth. He can feel himself becoming aroused, painfully aware of the other people in the gym around them as Heather's tongue swipes over the shell of his ear. He mutters against it, his voice low and his words smug. "You know how to get to my apartment, don't you, Spikemuth?"

"...yeah..."

"This should cover your drink," he slips a crumpled up note into his hand, tugging at his earlobe between his teeth before pulling away, "If I don't see you upstairs in ten minutes I'll assume you've gone home."

Piers nods, silently watching Heather leave before closing his tab and paying with the money he'd been given, pocketing the change. Before leaving the gym he checks his phone for any messages or missed calls- of which he has one from Raihan, which he elects to ignore- before using the front camera to check his appearance. Just as he'd expected his neck is littered with small bruises and bite marks, accompanied by smudges of purple lipstick that trail up to his ear. His face heats up as he looks at them, equally as embarrassed by it as he is turned on. Then, keeping his head down, he weaves through the crowd in the gym and makes his way through the door to the back of the building, starting the painfully familiar ascent to Heather's apartment.

\--

Both Heather and Veronica live in small apartments on the floor above the gym; they face each-other on a narrow corridor that smells of alcohol and must and provides little relief from the noise downstairs. When Piers arrives at Heather's apartment he doesn't bother knocking, figuring the door will be left unlocked. He pushes it open with ease, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up by the door-

“You took your time,” Piers looks up as he hears Heather’s voice comes from the couch; he’s reapplying his lipstick in a darker shade in a small handheld mirror. He opens his mouth to respond but Heather cuts him off before he can. “Take your shoes off. I’ll do the rest myself.” Piers watches as he gets up and makes his way out of the living room and into the bedroom next to it, then does as he says in silence, unable to help the feeling of deja vu as he takes off his boots and puts them down by the door. 

When he enters the bedroom Heather has already started undressing, his shirt slung haphazardly over the end of his bed and his choker and necklaces are nowhere to be seen. He bites his bottom lip- now painted a deep plum- as he looks Piers up and down, the glint in his eyes greedy, almost predatory as he beckons him over.

“Safeword?” he says, as if he’s reading it from a script.

“Dynamax.”

“Good.” He narrows his eyes, his hungry gaze remaining steady as Piers approaches him, “Now shut the fuck up and do as I tell you."

He doesn't need telling twice, allowing Heather to grab him by the front of his shirt and slam him against the wall, pressing his mouth roughly against his. A groan leaves Piers' throat, letting his jaw fall slack as Heather kisses him roughly, hands sliding under his shirt and teeth digging into his bottom lip. He closes his eyes, feeling his tongue push past his teeth, wet and hungry against his own as he explores his mouth, the cold of his metal stud swiping over his teeth and cheeks before he pulls away to suck on his bottom lip. Piers finds himself relaxing under the attention, melting into the kiss as Heather runs his hands over his abdomen, tracing over his nipples as he slides his thigh between his legs. He leans into his touch, moaning softly into his mouth as Heather's half-hard cock presses against him through his jeans. All of a sudden he's painfully aware of how turned on he is, of how wet he is, of how much he wants Heather out of his torn-up jeans and  _ inside of him _ . His hands move to wrap around his waist and pull him closer, but Heather grabs his wrists tightly in his fingers and pins them to the wall before he can, pulling away to look him in the eye as the corner of his lips turns upwards into a sneer. 

"You're enjoying this far too much," he hisses, less as an observation and more as a command, "Do you have any idea how pathetic you look? Are you that desperate to be fucked already?"

" _ Please _ , Heather, I-" He cuts himself off with a gasp as a palm makes contact with his cheek, the slap loud enough to fill the quietness of the apartment.

"I didn't say you could speak,  _ whore _ ," Heather says, and Piers nods, inhaling shakily as he meets his gaze. There's no love in his eyes, just disdain and an animalistic sort of lust that makes Piers squirm in his grasp. A part of his brain is telling him he should be ashamed of himself, but his body wants nothing more than to give in completely, to go slack under his touch and let him have his way with him until he can barely stand. A whine slips out as his shirt is removed and a pair of hands slide over his body, feeling him up as Heather grinds into him, biting at his neck and shoulders. No attention seems to be paid to him, to what pleases him- he feels like he could easily be replaced by any of the patrons downstairs- yet somehow it only turns him on, his face hot and flushed and his briefs soaked.

"You know," he hears Heather say, his voice not much more than a growl on the crook of his neck, "You're not doing much of the work here." He pulls away and hooks his fingers through the charm on Piers' choker, pulling him away from the wall like a dog on a leash. "Blow me," he says, his voice firm enough that it's clear he's not being given a choice. Piers drops to his knees without question, his hands already working to take off his belt. Heather's fingers grip a handful of his hair, tugging just tightly enough to elicit a gasp of pleasure-tinged pain and pulling his face closer to the tent in his jeans.

"If you want to be fucked," he says, watching him with narrowed eyes, "I suggest you hurry up." Piers opens his mouth to respond, but a sharp tug on his hair stops him, instead biting his lip as he watches Heather's free hand push down his briefs just far enough to pull out his cock, pressing the leaking tip against his mouth.

"Open up."

It's a simple enough command, but Piers still hesitates, pulling away slightly.

"You're clean, right?" he asks.

Heather scoffs, digging his nails into the back of his scalp. "Course I am," he narrows his eyes, "Don't bring me down to your level. Just because you're a cheap whore doesn't mean everyone else is."

Piers feels his face heat up as the words go straight to his cunt, moaning softly as Heather pushes his cock into his mouth. He feels filthy, almost violated; he knows he shouldn't enjoy being treated like this, but whenever he's with Heather he finds himself succumbing completely, becoming not much more than a toy he can get off with. He whines as he pulls harder on his hair, sucking on the head before taking in more of his length. Above him he hears Heather groan, his cock hot and hard, twitching and leaking in his mouth.

" _ Fuck… _ " His voice is quiet and breathy, interrupting himself with moans of pleasure, "You're good at this… aren't you?" A sudden thrust causes Piers's eyes to widen, gagging slightly as Heather hits the back of his throat. " _ Mhmm _ … Bet you've had plenty of practice… haven't you?" He pulls his dick out of his mouth, the shaft wet with saliva and stained with lipstick, before pushing in again, harder, making Piers whine around him at the sensation. Heather's free hand joins the other on the back of his head, gripping his hair and holding his head firmly in place as he thrusts into him and pulls back, harder and faster each time. Piers can only watch, looking up at Heather through his lashes as saliva dribbles down his chin and tears well up in the corners of his eyes. He whines and whimpers around his cock as his mouth is fucked like a toy, both humiliated and turned on by just how  _ used _ he feels. He barely processes what he's doing as he undoes his own pants, closing his eyes and slipping a hand underneath his underwear. His fingers run over his pussy, his moans muffled around Heather's dick as he toys with his clit.

It's only when he feels him pull out of his mouth that he suddenly becomes aware of what he's doing, opening his eyes and biting his lip to stifle his moans as his fingers press against his cunt. He looks up, breathing laboured and face flushed, feeling spit run from the corner of his mouth down his chin. 

Heather stands over him, dick red and hard, leaking against his stomach. He's pink in the face, his chest glistening with a thin layer of sweat. "I didn't say you could touch yourself," he practically spits, "You're damn lucky you're such a good fuck, you know." Piers' line of sight stays focussed on his cock as he removes a hand from the back of his head and wraps his fingers around his shaft, holding it in front of his face

"Heather, I-"

"You know, I much preferred your voice when your mouth was full," Heather's lips turn upwards into a grin, "If you don't shut up I'll just cum on your face and kick you out- let everyone here know how much of a cockslut you are."

Piers knows his threat is disgusting and humiliating- and one he probably wouldn't be afraid of following through with- yet he still wants more, leaning forward to lick the head of his leaking cock as he starts to jerk himself off. "And if I do?" he asks, earning a groan from the man above him.

"If you do-" Heather's breathing grows laboured as he moans, his hand moving faster over his dick, "Then I'll fuck your-  _ ah!-  _ I'll fuck your brains out until you can't… can't fucking stand…" Piers lets out a whine, parting his lips as he watches the motions of his hand becoming faster and erratic, listening to him moan in pleasure as he climaxes, coming over his face in hot, sticky spurts. He opens his eyes and lets go of his softening dick, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"You look disgusting," he spits, breathing heavily as he recovers from his orgasm, "You should see yourself, covered in cum like a fucking whore." He smirks, grabbing Piers by his choker and pulling him up onto his feet. "You took that like it was nothing… I bet you get fucked by other gym leaders all the time." His fingers run over his cum-stained cheek before sliding between his parted lips. Piers can't help but whimper, closing his eyes as he sucks on the digits in his mouth, his cunt wet and clit throbbing as it begs to be touched.

" _ Heather… _ " He groans around his fingers, drool running down his chin as he runs his tongue over them, the bitter taste of his cum filling his mouth

"That's probably the only reason they keep you in the gym challenge, isn't it?" Heather slides in a third finger, pulling his body flush against his own, "You're just there for them to cum in, Spikemuth." He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, saliva dribbling down his chin as he pulls him back by his choker, dragging him towards the bed. A hum of satisfaction leaves his lips as he sits down on top of the mattress, pulling Piers down on top of him, straddling his thigh. "Isn't that right,  _ whore _ ?"

Piers feels himself going red with embarrassment; he feels disgusting, used, almost  _ violated _ at Heather's words, yet somehow finds himself grinding against his thigh, his moans of pleasure low and breathy in Heather's ear. His pussy is soaking by now, his pants far too restrictive as he rubs himself against him, desperate and ashamed. "Y-yeah…" his voice shakes, barely louder than a whisper, " _ Oh _ … Heather,  _ please _ …"

"You want me to fuck you?"

Piers just nods, burying his face in the crook of Heather's neck, his knee brushing against his already semi-hard cock as he grinds himself against his leg. 

"Say it."

"Please… fuck me…" Piers wraps his arms around neck, gripping a handful of his hair tightly in his fingers, " _ Please _ , Heather, I want you so bad… want you to fuck me so, so bad…" He barely thinks about what he's saying, whining as he practically fucks himself on Heather's thigh, his cunt throbbing from the stimulation. His body is on autopilot as he rubs himself off on him, gripping on the handful of lilac hair in his fingers tighter as he groans into his neck. He feels Heather's lips press against the shell of his ear, his breath hot and voice low and husky on his skin.

"What makes you think you deserve that?" he mutters, "Why the hell should I give you what you want?"

" _ Heather _ -"

"Look at yourself, grinding against me like that," he takes his earlobe between his teeth, the metal stud in his tongue cold against it as he nips and sucks at the pale flesh, "Begging for my cock inside you like a pathetic  _ slut. _ " Heather chuckles, grabbing his hair and yanking, hard enough to pull his head back to look up at him and for a sharp jolt of pain to run through his scalp, drawing a gasp from the back of his throat. His eyes water and he bites his lip as Heather's hands slide down to his pants, lifting his hips as he undoes them.

"Heather _ , please _ ," Piers blinks back tears as he speaks, "I need you, I need to-  _ nnh! _ " He moans in pleasure as Heathers fingers slip beneath his underwear and slide over his cunt, toying with his clit with his thumb.

"Need me to what?" he hisses against his ear, "To touch you? Fuck you? Fill you up like the greedy whore you are?" He runs his fingers between the lips of his pussy, edging around his entrance before slipping two inside of him. Piers gasps, clenching around his digits as they press against his walls, soft wet noises drowned out by the sound of his whines of pleasure. He doesn't bother trying to muffle his sounds, his legs shaking as he lifts himself up and drops himself back down onto Heather's digits, moaning and gasping as he slowly starts to fuck himself on his fingers. His eyes fall shut as they curl inside him, a third stretching him open as they move deeper and faster inside of him. It feel so good that it almost  _ hurts, _ the stimulation overwhelming all other sensations as the tips of his fingers brush over something inside of him that makes him throw his head back, a choked sob of pleasure slipping past his lips.

" _ Fuck, Heather _ !" He grips his shoulder with his free hand, nails digging into his back, "More… Harder…  _ please-"  _ His moans are loud and breathy, his legs trembling and his skin hot and flushed. Heather nips at his jaw, fingers rubbing his walls as he slides them out, making Piers whimper at the sudden emptiness. He opens his eyes, lips parted in surprise, breathing laboured and cunt dripping on Heather's thigh. 

"You're still on the pill, aren't you?" Heather's asks him, and he nods pathetically. 

"Hurry  _ up-" _ Piers starts, but is cut off by a hard smack in the face, his cheek stinging and tears rolling down his face.

"Take everything off," Heather tells him firmly, "Lay down on the bed, legs spread. If you touch yourself I'll make sure you regret it."

Piers is too horny, too desperate to feel ashamed or even hurt, the little dignity he'd had at the start of that evening long gone. He doesn't hesitate to do as Heather tells him, his jeans, underwear and choker soon joining his shirt on the floor. He feels pathetic, like he's being used, his whole body practically begging to be fucked. Heather watches him as he strips, his hungry gaze moving over his body as he does the same, pushing off his boxer briefs, leaving him in the cropped top that's currently sliding off his shoulders. Piers looks in the mirror opposite the bed as he lays down, finding himself gripping his own wrists to stop himself from jerking off. His eyes stay fixed on Heather- on his tan, unmarked skin, a stark contrast to the dark bruises scattered over his own; on his cock, thick and uncut, precum dribbling over the flushed pink head; on his hands as they pull his crop top over his head and drop it on the floor, before pulling open the bottom drawer of his bedside table and reaching inside. He waits, his mind wandering to the filthiest things he'd let Heather do to him, the shame they bring him only turning him on more.

"Gods, you look pathetic," Heather's voice comes from above him, "I wonder how many people have seen you like this?" Piers spreads his legs as he joins him, positioning himself between his thighs. "You've probably had half the league inside you," he smirks, "With how much dick you've taken you'd think you'd start charging. Maybe then you'd be able to fix your fucking gym." Piers whimpers at his words, letting his arms go slack as Heather wraps his fingers around his wrists and lift them over his head. He continues to talk, his voice low and husky, as he wraps a length of rope around his wrists, looping it around the metal bars of the bed frame. 

"I love it when you're like this… All spread out for me to use," he chuckles softly to himself, doing up the rope in a knot just tight enough that Piers can tell it will leave a bruise the next morning. "Maybe one day we can invite some of your gym leader  _ friends _ over… take it in turns fucking you like the cheap whore you are… bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Piers whines, unable to stop himself from thinking about it. It's so gross and invasive- Heather _ knows _ his relationship with Raihan is completely separate to this- yet it's so,  _ so _ tempting. He bites his bottom lip hard to muffle the sounds that come out, his cunt throbbing from the lack of stimulation.

"Heather, come  _ on _ -"

"You remember the safeword, don't you?" Heather cuts him off, and Piers looks up to meet his gaze, still just as hungry and predatory as before.

He nods.

"Good." Heather grins, running his tongue over his teeth, and before Piers has time to process what he's doing the cold metal blade of a knife is pressed against his neck, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to threaten to do so. He inhales sharply, his heart pounding in his chest and his cunt dripping against the bed sheets beneath him. A moan escapes his lips, pathetic and desperate, as Heather’s fingers slip inside of him once more, his thumb toying at his clit. “I could keep you here all weekend,” he mutters, “Keep you tied up and fuck you whenever I want…” He adds another finger then curls them inside him, pressing his mouth to his neck, biting and sucking at the bruises already there. “I could make you cum without even fucking you right now,” he mutters, “Make you scream and beg for me inside of you…”

Piers pushes his hips down against his hand, groaning as he fucks himself on his fingers. “ _ Ahh… _ please…” he gasps, spreading his legs wider, “Please, Heather-  _ oh, fuck...”  _

“You sound so pathetic,” Heather pushes his fingers in and out of him, rubbing against his walls, the knife still pressed firmly against his neck, “You know, if you wanted me to fuck you so bad, you’d say it.”

“Heather- _ ” _

_ “Say it.” _

Heather’s fingers press deeper inside him, hitting something that makes Piers throw his head back and let out a breathy, high-pitched moan. There’s a jolt of pain on his neck as the knife catches and nicks his skin, only making him wetter, more needy, more desperate as he grinds down against his hand. “Fuck me _,”_ he gasps, “Please, I want - _oh god -_ I want you so _fucking bad.... Heather… Heather,_ just _fuck me... please…”_ Piers barely processes what he’s saying, moaning and crying out as Heather’s fingers continue to abuse his hole, hitting his g-spot and making his eyes water. He’s beyond humiliated, begging with his legs spread and his arms bound, desperate to be fucked. It’s pathetic- to want to be filled up, to want his body to be used like a toy, to want to take every disgusting and degrading thing Heather does to him- but Piers can’t get enough of it. Tears roll down the side of his face as he gasps, his legs shaking as his fingers slowly slide out of him. 

“You’re such a whore,” Heather mutters, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he presses his digits, wet and sticky, to Piers’ mouth, “Begging for my cock like that.” Piers whimpers as he weakly licks them clean, the taste of his own pussy coating his tongue. Heather chuckles as he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks on them. “You want me to fuck you now, baby? You want me to fill you up like like slut you are?”

Piers can barely bring himself to speak, managing a quick nod, whining around his fingers. He watches him through his lashes as he pulls his fingers from his mouth with a soft, wet pop, before picking up a bottle of lube from the bedside table and squeezing a generous amount over his length. The blade stays on his neck as he wraps his hand around his thigh and he obediently lifts his hips off the bed to give him better access, a whimper leaving his throat as he pushes the tip of his cock against his entrance. Piers’ thighs tremble slightly as he spreads them wider, his wrists starting to ache as the rope around them digs into them. Heather looks down at him with a sadistic, predatory glint in his eyes, wetting his lips with his tongue before muttering, “You come when I say so. Got it?”

Piers only has time to nod before he thrusts his hips forwards, a high, breathy moan escaping his lips as he penetrates him, pushing his length into his cunt. Heather pauses for a second- he’s a bit longer and far thicker than average, and it takes a moment to adjust to the sheer  _ size  _ of him- before he pulls out almost entirely and shoves back in, eliciting a loud cry of pain and pleasure from Piers. It hurts, his cunt stretched open as he gradually thrusts deeper into him, but  _ holy fuck _ , does it feel good. He moans, loud and breathy, his mouth falling slack as he arches his back up into Heather, feeling him throb inside of him. 

“ _ Piers… _ ” he groans his name, blunt nails digging into his thigh as he thrusts his hips forward, “Fuck _...  _ baby... you’re so… so  _ tight…”  _ Piers gasps, his words going straight to his clit, clenching around his cock as it leaks and twitches inside of him. He’s already starting to get overstimulated after being finger-fucked, aching and quivering as his pussy takes more and more of his length- yet he’s somehow still desperate for more, desperate for Heather to abuse his hole and make him scream his name. He tilts his head back, the blade of the knife catching his skin once more, and lets out a choked sob of pain-tinged pleasure, tears streaming down the sides of his face.

“ _ H-harder…  _ Heather… Heather,  _ please...”  _ His words come out as a trembling mess of moans and gasps, clenching his fists as Heather pounds into him, his pace gradually getting faster and faster, “ _ Yes… oh, yes... faster-  _ oh fuck _ , please…”  _

He hooks his legs around Heather’s waist as his thrusts get rougher and harder, his skin slapping obscenely against his as his moans rise in volume. He leans over him to bite roughly at his jaw, growling into his ear as the hand on his thigh moves to yank on a handful of his hair. 

“Such a-  _ ahh!-  _ “Such a fucking whore…” his words arealmost incoherent, an almost-animalistic growl against Pier’s skin, “Could fuck you… all day…” Piers drinks in every word he says, barely noticing Heather dropping the knife until his fingers wrap around his throat, forcing more tears to roll down his face. He gasps, eyes shut, his body aching for release as he feels himself edging closer and closer to his climax. The bed creaks loudly beneath them, the frame smacking against the wall as Heather fucks him harder, faster, deeper, agonisingly so until he slams into his g-spot and Piers throws his head back and practically screams in pleasure. 

“ _ Heather!” _ His name stumbles past his lips, high-pitched and pleading,  _ “ _ m’so _ close…  _ gonna _ …  _ gonna cum _...”  _ He can feel his whole body shake from overstimulation, his body begging for release as he clenches his pussy harder around his dick, desperately trying to stop his orgasm and eliciting a shaky gasp from Heather that’s dangerously close to a sob.

“ _ Whore... _ ” he hisses, squeezing his fingers tighter around his throat,  _ “ _ After me… gonna-  _ mhmm-  _ gonna fill you up first...”

Piers can only scream in pleasure, sobbing as Heather moans and growls into his ear, his pace becoming rapid and uneven as he spits out insults between them. His cock twitches and with a muffled scream against Piers’ neck, he reaches his climax, coming in thick, hot spurts inside him. He continues to fuck him through his orgasm, still thrusting into his overstimulated cunt as his name spills past his lips, low and breathy against his skin. It’s disgusting and degrading, but Piers loves it, pushing his hips up into him as he fills him up, still gasping and sobbing his name.

“ _Fuck…_ _Heather_ , _please-_ ”  
“Cum,” Heather cuts him off, his voice not much more than a murmur in his ear, “Cum for me like the fucking whore you are.”

Piers doesn’t need telling twice; he relaxes his cunt around his dick and within seconds he’s crying out hoarsely as his orgasm takes over him. White-hot bliss courses through his body, legs shaking and tears streaming down his face as he screams in pleasure. He cums over Heather’s cock, consumed by the pleasure as his vision goes dim for a moment. He moans and whines pathetically as he thrusts his body weakly into his, before he drops his legs from around his waist and lays still, panting heavily underneath him.  _ “Holy shit…” _

Piers lays still as Heather pulls out, looking up at him to meet his gaze. Heather himself is pink in the face, drool running from the corner of his bruised and swollen lips, both of their lipstick smudged over his chin and cheek. His hair is a mess, his blush reaching his chest as he gets his breath back, his cock still slick and shiny with lube and both their cum. He runs a hand through his hair and kneels over him, tracing over Piers’ hip bone with his fingers. “Look at yourself,” he mutters, “Fucking pathetic, laying their with my cum inside you like a fucking whore.” Piers watches as his lips curl into a smirk and he reaches over to pick his phone up from the bedside table, before leaning back and taking a picture of him. 

Piers swallows, ashamed of how much he likes it. “Are you done?” he asks, his voice still shaky and hoarse from screaming.

“One more-” Heather lowers the angle of his phone, taking one more picture from between his legs, “There, that should keep me going for a while.” He chuckles to himself and puts his phone back down, before leaning over Piers to untie his hands from the bed. “How was that, Spikemuth?”

“You don’t need me to answer that,” Piers answers quickly, rubbing the bruises on his wrist, “Wouldn’t be surprised if the whole gym heard that.”

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t y-”

“Fuck off, Heather,” he snaps at him before he can finish, swinging his legs over the side of the bed before getting to his feet. As he stands, the dull aching in his body intensifies to stinging pain and he winches, sucking in air through his teeth. Heather just smirks.

“Need help getting to the bathroom?” he asks, and Piers nods.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to steady himself.

There’s silence as they take it in turns to pee, and Piers only feels more humiliated as he wipes Heather’s cum from between his legs and stares at the bruises and cuts on his neck and shoulders in the bathroom mirror. He ends up having to wait on the bed as Heather gathers his clothes, his face burning with shame as he watches him put them back on. He can’t help but feel disgusted with himself, yet there’s a sick rush to it, a weird masochistic enjoyment he gets out of being so degraded by someone he hates so much. He frowns as he pulls on his jacket and does up his boots, combing his hands through his hair to tidy it up the best he can.

“You need me to help you home?” he hears Heather ask, watching as he pulls on a fresh pair of underwear (something he hadn’t bothered to offer him). His tone of voice lacks any concern- if anything he sounds like he’s mocking him. Piers narrows his eyes.

“I can manage, just call me a cab,” he says curtly, pauses, then, “You’re a bitch, you know that?”   
Heather just laughs, giving him a wink. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Piers doesn’t know how to reply.


End file.
